


Unique in All the World

by Atisketatasket26



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician)
Genre: Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-27 21:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30129339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atisketatasket26/pseuds/Atisketatasket26
Summary: There is a fan theory that this man is so private, that one day he'll just pop up having been married for years without anyone knowing. This is an introspective fluffy piece that waxes poetical on that idea.
Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Original Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6





	Unique in All the World

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the fox's monologue in The Little Prince.

There was a relief in not having to be so careful, anymore. A sense of freedom in the ability to live your life without having to orchestrate and second guess every outing. It was hard to believe, looking back now, that you had lived like this for four years. Before meeting Andrew, you would have laughed at even the thought of keeping anything secret, let alone such a large part of your life. You had always been an open book, though you now realized it was only because the plot had been remarkably boring. Enter a tall, dark stranger to liven things up a little. Your own personal deus ex machina. 

You had barely listened to his music. You sent pastries from your bakery to every somewhat famous person to wander through Georgia. The same sticker placed prominently on the box; ‘Please post and tag!’ with your Instagram handle. It only worked about half of the time, but when it did you saw enough of a surge in business to keep doing it. You knew it was shameless, but starting a business from scratch was never easy. Harder when you had to do everything yourself. It’s not like anyone you knew had extra money lying around to invest in dreams. 

But, your plot worked. Andrew had loved the cupcakes, and happily gave you the signal boost you had been seeking. You thought it would end at that, that’s usually as much interaction as any of those musicians gave you. You nearly dropped the tray of cookies you were holding with this string bean of a man wandered into the bakery the next afternoon. You still, to this very day, could not remember what he said. You hadn’t heard it. But, he walked out of there an hour later with an overall box of pastries and your phone number. His texts were sweet, and funny. Almost overbearingly polite most of the time, deliciously lewd the rest. When he would call, his voice would be hoarse from singing, and low to keep the rest of the bus from hearing. But, you loved to hear him talk. He had the tendency to switch into what you called ‘professor mode’. Going into the history of a song, or a nerdy rant about the city he was in, explaining the subtle differences in cheeses. And you didn’t really care about any of it, you just liked the way he talked about it. His excitement in the mundane was contagious, and you found yourself sending him long articles you’d thought he’d like. It wasn’t unusual for you to come home at night and find yet another package on your doorstep; books and albums he’d painstakingly curated to your tastes. You knew you were falling in love with him, even then. But it made no sense on paper. You were private, American, ordinary. He was….not any of those things. So, you talked yourself out of it, again and again. Paced your messages, steadied your heart. Prepared yourself for the inevitable fading.  
A few months later, the bell on the bakery door chimed again, and there he was. He had rented a car on his day off and made the drive. He made up the excuse that he was playing a festival “nearby”, though you both knew it was over a hundred miles one way. And then, that was it. It all changed from there.  
You had the conversation on the couch in your apartment. Something was playing on Netflix, you couldn’t remember what. You had barely paid attention to it. Over Chinese take-out, Andrew lay out what life was going to be if you ‘moved forward’. Had it been anyone else, you would have been suspicious at his insistence that you had to keep your relationship quiet. But, he had been so earnest, apologetic, frightened he was going to scare you away. Besides, it wasn’t unreasonable. You didn’t even have a personal Instagram account, and used the rest of your socials mainly for admiring pictures of your friends’ chubby babies and stubborn toddlers. So, you had agreed. And it wasn’t so hard, keeping it to yourselves. The hardest thing was the day you had to sit down, after he was back on the road, and map out which friends and family members could be trusted, and who could not.  
You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t painfully lonely at times. He couldn’t even accompany you to your best friend’s wedding, even though you were the maid of honor. You just couldn’t trust the other guests not to post pictures on Twitter. Sometimes, you would sit up late at night and look at pictures of Andrew at different events, feeling left out and alone. In those moments, you thought to yourself that it was almost like having an imaginary friend. You missed him so much, you felt even lonelier than you had when you were single. But, it wasn’t all bad. There were still Christmases with your families, movies, swimming in the sea, and date nights. No one expected to see Hozier on a random Tuesday in some random suburban mall, and everyone in his town was long past caring. You could be ordinary together. You would go to shows, quietly watching from the side of the stage. None of the thousands of fans in the audience were any the wiser, and there was a thrill in that. Sometimes, when you were apart, he’d post love sons on his stories. And the fans would wildly speculate about what instamodel account they were for. They combed his followers for clues. No one suspected the quiet little bakery in Georgia. Whenever it got too hard, you would read the comments online to remind yourself that this was for your benefit, not Andrew’s. The vultures would pick you apart, scrutinize everything you did. There would be sweet ones, maybe even the majority. But, there would always be the mean ones, the potentially dangerous ones. What was it your mother always said? One bad apple ruins the bunch? 

Two years in, you moved to Ireland. Your cousins and high school friends were surprised and wondered why. You still didn’t tell. It finally felt real when you had to file the immigration paperwork, and he had to legally declare you as his partner. Again, you had felt the paradigm shifting. Just as you had the second time he visited the bakery. You lived together now, and there would be no going back. In time, you started a little cafe. His mother had ran one once, years ago, and she would visit and chat. It helped you from missing your own mother too much, it kept you from hopping on the first plane back to Georgia just to be with her. 

It hurt more, after that, when he would lie in interviews and say he was single. When he would laugh along with jokes about which celebrities he could date, or how many women in the audience would be happy to correct that. You argued more those first six months in Ireland than you had your entire relationship. You were homesick, and on your own too much. You were tired of that same tired lecture he would give you on how it was essential to keep a solid, defined line between Hozier the performer, and Andrew the man. You would remind him that you had the misfortune to be saddled with both. His face would morph from frustration to anguish. His eyes would drop, and so would your heart. Your apologies would overlap, blending into each other. One of you would point out that this was silly, you didn’t have time for this. Moments together, even now that you shared a roof, were so rare and precious. And it would pass.  
There was one time, after you were already engaged, where rumors swirled online about him and a musician he was friends with. He did nothing to quell the gossip, in fact if anything he stoked the fire by continuing to like and comment on her posts. You knew it was silly to be angry. They were friends. That was it. But, no matter how much he tried to insist otherwise, he was aware of the way his movements online were tracked and dissected. He laughed when you told him it was almost like cheating. He didn’t mean to, it was just so ridiculous, all of it. You banished him to the guest room that night. You both tossed miserably, unable to sleep. It was almost dawn when he appeared in the doorway, sheepishly asking if he could come in, like an apologetic child hoping to slip in between their parents. You had nodded, turning down the covers on his side of the bed. He had slipped in, wrapping those lanky arms around you, his head resting atop yours. Forgiveness was in the silence shared.

Planning the wedding had been a military-esque operation.You were married outside beneath the autumn leaves, the setting sun illuminating the golds and reds. You told no one, not even your parents. No one even knew you had been engaged for several months. Not many guests. They thought they were there for a party. Your family was just excited for a free vacation. It wasn’t until Andrew took his place at the end of the aisle and you showed up holding a bouquet that they put the pieces together. The surprise of it was fun. Everyone was so happy. No one cared that you hadn’t told them. Everyone knew it would happen eventually, anyway. When you put your mother on the plane home, you reminded her five times she couldn’t tell anyone at her job that you were married. Because they would want to know to whom. She rolled her eyes, told you were silly. Sally in accounting didn’t give a damn about Hozier. Andrew Byrne was an innocent name, she insisted, couldn’t she just call him that? But you shook your head at her. One crack was all it took for the water to seep through. 

You went on your honeymoon to Iceland, to see the Northern Lights. You sat there, staring up at those dancing colors, enthralled by how magical your life suddenly was. There was a strangeness, too. No one knew you existed. He had an entire public life that did not include you. But, you studied the man beside you, and you realized you didn’t care if you had to share him. You didn’t care if you only got to hold claim to part of him. 

It was over a year ago now. Just like with everything else, the big reveal (as Andrew kept calling it, teasingly) was planned out. The new album was coming out, and that meant a blitzkrieg of press and appearances. More so than any other period in your relationship, and the first time people would really see him since the wedding. The two of you had bent the truth where necessary before, and you had expected this to be no different. You admitted only to yourself that something felt different, more significant about removing his ring. You told yourself that he would have to for the shows, anyway. You told yourself you liked having this little universe, just for the two of you. But, you couldn’t shake the feeling. It was the same feeling you had that day in the bakery. You had reached the threshold, and a decision had to be made.  
He tried to be nonchalant when he told you what he was thinking. He was trying so hard to be casual when he asked for your permission to be open. You agreed too quickly, and he rattled off that list of worries to remind you what the cost was. But, it was time. 

No fanfare. No sappy socials post. He had a cover story for Hot Press that seemed dramatic enough. He waited until it came up naturally in conversation. Then, he just slipped in the word ‘wife’. The journalist had been rightfully stunned. Who was this woman? How long had they been together? What do you mean almost five years? The journalist wanted to talk to you, get a line or two for the article. Andrew was against it instinctively, but he wouldn’t answer on your behalf. Or pretend to hold any sort of domain on your free will. So, he asked, and was taken aback when you agreed. But, you told him it made more sense to give what you wanted, on your terms. Otherwise, the mystery of it all would drive people insane, they would try to track her down. So, you talked to the journalist, and chose your words carefully. Life was lovely, you were happy, he was great, yes you had been in on the idea to keep it quiet as long as you could. 

He was at home the day the article came out. He posted the link to his Twitter with no additional commentary, too nervous about the reaction to even thank the magazine. You sat opposite of each other on the sofa, staring at your phones. Long lost friends came out of the woodwork to congratulate you (and ask for concert tickets). Your mother was so relieved that she could finally ‘stop living a lie’, as if all the work had been on her. It was fun to see musicians you admired commenting on the tweet, happy for the two of you. There was something surreal to see them wanting to meet you, when you had wanted to meet some of them since you were a teen. 

Then, what both of you had been waiting for happened. The hate rolled in. He saw it first, you could tell by the way his face furrowed, his brows stitching together, his lips pursed. You tried to act like you didn’t notice, so he wouldn’t tell you not to look. It wasn’t as bad as your mind had envisioned it, though that felt hard to explain. Even though the daggers were dull, they still hurt. You weren’t alone in your universe anymore. This new life suddenly felt claustrophobic, and strange. A life on display. Strangers were busy googling you, trying to figure you out, dragging out long forgotten pictures from your teens. It was invasive, and wrong, and weird. It was your life, now. They would get bored eventually, Andrew tried reassuring you. They would move on. But, you knew your life would always have this dimension to it, because his did. There would be insidious gossip, and vicious rumors, and scrutinization in your future. Just the thought was exhausting.

That afternoon, you found yourself outside, watching the crows harass the songbirds. You lazily ate an orange, savoring each little section slowly. There was something meditative in this, in just existing in the world you were given. The door opened, and Andrew slipped out quietly. He sat down beside you. You peeled off a section of your orange, offering it to him. He popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Your bluetooth speaker began to play “Wildflowers'' by The Wailin’ Jenny’s. Andrew sang along softly. You finished your orange, and took his hand.

Then just like that, you were alone in the universe once more.


End file.
